I Like You- Lots
by xmiss-anthrope
Summary: Molly accidentally confesses something. Rated T (may change) for drunkenness and a touch of foul language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N & Disclaimer. This story, just like the rest of my Sherlollies, is all written early in the morning, which means it's not of fantastic quality. I would put this with the one shots, but I don't think it will be one. This story is unbeta-ed, so any grammatical or spelling errors are solely my fault and I apologise. The idea came from a roleplay I had with a lovely person.

I make no profit from writing these stories, it is simply for my own enjoyment. All belongs to the BBC and its writers.

Sherlock, ive got something to tell yyou. xMolly

What. SH

Mary said I probly shouldn't, but I don't care. xMolly

Are you… drunk? SH

Maybe a little. xMolly

Don't you wanna hear what I have too say? xMolly

Not particularly, but I have a feeling that you're going to tell me anyway. SH

You have got fantastic eyes. xMolly

And a very nice behind. xMolly

You are very drunk, Molly Hooper, and I think you should go to bed before you say something you regret. SH

I'm not sleepy. And I can't go to sleep I'm in a cab. xMolly

Look outside. xMolly

Sherlock glanced outside into the night, which had been covered by a soft blanket of snow. Below his window, a small figure was climbing out. He groaned, just as a persistent knocking came at the front door.

"You shouldn't have come, Molly." He said, after unlocking the door and pulling it open to reveal a wobbly-looking pathologist.

"I came to-" She began, but Sherlock interrupted her.

"Shh, don't wake Mrs Hudson." He told her, assisting her up the narrow flight of stairs to his flat. When they reached it, she lowered herself onto the sofa.

"I came to tell you," Molly started again, her words slurring, "That I like you." She looked pleased. "Lots." She added.

The consulting detective sighed. "You are clearly _disgustingly_ drunk, Molly." He disappeared into the kitchen and returned holding a glass of water. "Drink." He commanded, handing it to her. She took it, grumbling, and he watched as she gulped it down. "Are you hungry?" Sherlock asked when the glass was empty.

Molly shook her head, but Sherlock went into the kitchen and reappeared, moments later, with a plate of toast. "Eat that, and then you're going to bed." He told her. Her eyes narrowed.

"You're not my mother, Sherlock Holmes! You can't just order me around like that." Molly said, sounding annoyed.

"Molly-" Sherlock said, voice low, the same way it was when she talked too much in the lab. She shut up and ate the toast.

"There's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom and you can borrow a shirt to sleep in. It should be big enough to cover what's necessary." Molly blushed. "You're staying here tonight, you can't be out alone in this state. You'll take my bed, of course."

"No, I couldn't possibly impose on you like that, and if I must stay, I'll take the couch." She said, trying not to sound as drunk as she was.

"Don't be ridiculous, Molly. I hardly sleep anyway."

"No, really, it's fine. I'll take the couch, or- or we could share the bed, or..." Molly regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

"I really don't think that's a good idea, in light of recent events." Sherlock said, staring very pointedly at something that wasn't her face. "I've got to finish a case anyway, I'd only be disrupting your sleep."

Molly blushed. "I'm sorry. I'll just go- go to bed now, thanks." She slipped off the couch and made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash off her makeup.

_I've ruined everything _she thought. _He can't even look at me._

When she walked into the dark, plain bedroom with the periodic table hung on the wall, Sherlock was nowhere to be found, but a large t-shirt lay on the neatly made bed.

When Sherlock was sure that Molly was actually asleep, he crept into the bedroom to get a pair of pyjamas. He knew better than to take the ramblings of a drunk seriously, but he couldn't help but hope it was a moment of drunken honesty. Well, the part about her liking him. He couldn't care less about the lovely eyes and a nice behind.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Not much to say, as I'm typing this right up after I published chapter one, but already I have some readers, and that's lovely! Thank you! Again, a reminder that this is unbeta-ed and all grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine, if you find any (not including Molly's drunken texts), please inform me. Thank you for reading!

**Disclaimer: I make no profit off of these stories, copyright where it is due to BBC and its affiliates. **

Molly's eyes flickered lazily, and then snapped all the way open when she realised that she wasn't in her own bed. Her mouth tasted disgusting, and she had a pounding headache.

And then she remembered.

"Shit." She whispered, cursing her own stupidity. "Shit, shit, shit, shit shit..." She continued on like this, the volume of her voice increasing with her level of frustration as she whirled around the room, trying to remember where she put her own clothes.

A head popped in the doorway. "You're awake?" Sherlock asked, eyes scanning over her half-dressed, frazzled appearance.

"I am so sorry about, er, last night." Molly told him, near tears. "I don't know what I was thinking. Oh, god, I have to go..."

"Molly." Sherlock interrupted her frantic search and placed a hand on her shoulder. She froze, staring at him. "I think we should talk.

"No, I've really got to get to work." Molly told him.

"You don't have work today."

"Yes, I know, okay?" Molly gave up on her excuses.

"I just want to know if what you said last night was true." Sherlock said.

"Molly felt her face flush. "What?" She asked, playing for time. "Oh, yes. You, er, have very nice eyes, I suppose."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Don't play dumb, Molly, you know who I am. It doesn't work."

"Of course I like you!" Molly said, her voice tremulous. "You know, we're mates!"

Sherlock sighed. "You know what I mean."

"N-no. If course not." She lied, voice still shaky. Sherlock gave another sigh.

"All right, thank you." He told her and turned to leave Molly to her dressing, but not before Molly saw- what, a disappointed look? She knew then that she was imagining things.

"Wait, Sherlock?" She called after him tentatively. "If I- if I had been telling the truth, would you have been mad?"

Sherlock turned around slowly and gave her a long look. "Not at all."

"And you wouldn't hate me, or stop speaking to me, or..." Molly let her sentence trail off.

"No."

"You wouldn't send me out of your flat?"

"No, although I was under the impression that you were in a great hurry to escape." He gave a slight smirk. "There's breakfast on the table, if you're hungry." Molly gave him a small, slightly embarrassed smile and went to the kitchen.

A plate of toast, slightly burnt but slathered in butter, lay next to a cup of tea and an Aspirin tablet. "I thought you didn't do food." She said with a laugh.

"No, not usually, but John does." Sherlock sat down across from her, putting his palms together and fingertips under his chin.

Molly bit into the toast, feeling slightly naked under his piercing gaze.

"I've one more question about last night." Sherlock stated, after a few moments' pause. "You said something over text message."

Molly began scanning through her head, desperately trying to remember what she had sent him.

"And I wanted to know if it was true." He paused, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Do I really have 'a nice behind'?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm sorry, this is the longest chapter of sweet nothing that I've written in a while and it may be dull. But it is like this because I feel a bit of a kinship to Molly, so I'm drawing on that. This chapter may have more typos than others, as I've just returned form the eye doctor and my pupils are dilated and I can't look at the computer screen. **  
**Disclaimer: I own nothing nor do I make any profit through this writing, copyright as appropriate to BBC and its affiliates.**

* * *

Molly wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "Did I really say that?" She asked, and he help up his phone as proof of her typo-filled compliment. "Oh, god. I am so sorry." She said with an embarrassed laugh. Sherlock chuckled too, and slipped the phone into the pocket of his dressing gown.

"You were drunk. It happens to the best of us."

"But not you." Molly couldn't help but sound a little bitter.

"I a certainly not one of the best." He reminded her. "And perhaps I _have_ been a bit tipsy on occasion. I just haven't indulged for over a year."

"I beg to differ about the first part." Molly said, sounding teasing. "But really, you're one of the greatest men I've ever known."

"Great, but not good." He said. "I'm sardonic, hard-hearted, and I have been known to be quite rude. For example, the Christmas party."

Molly winced inwardly at the recollection, but made a quiet, protesting noise.

"I could have just looked at the tag on the gift, there was no need for deductions or all of that. But I did."

"Whether or not you're a good man or a great man or what could be debated for several hours, I'm sure." Molly said, sounding annoyed. "But it doesn't make any difference to me."

Sherlock's lips twitched. "Why _should_ it matter?"

Molly dropped her toast onto the plate and sat back in her chair, looking a but uncomfortable, like someone who had been cornered in a sword fight, except she hadn't known she was part of the fight.

"We're... mates." She said, echoing her statement of earlier.

"Are we?" The detective asked. "To my memory, I've all but abused your existence fr the better part of two years." He gave a wry smile. "Flattery, perhaps, but mostly to obtain favors. I've insulted your looks and your personality. You're the last person who shoul d be defending me as a 'good' man." He tipped his chair back on two legs and studied Molly's expression. "And yet, you do."

"I should go." Molly said, but it was half hearted.

"Why won't you just say it?"

"Say _what?_" Her voice was tinged with an unusual venom, and it made Sherlock's smile grow.

"That you like me. As more than a friend." His tone was completely serious. "I know you do, so don't try to deny it again. I've seen the way you look at me, felt your pulse when you hand me books or papers-" He reached out now and gently placed two fingers on her wrist where, sure enough, her pulse was pounding. "And the lipstick..." She had been wearing it last night, a shade he had said he liked once to gain access to a severed head.

Molly's face was white, except for her cheeks, which were beet red. "Why do you need me to say it, then? Why, if you already know." She whispered. She didn't know why he was so worked up, it would be so easy to just admit it and walk away. He had already told her he wouldn't hate her.

"Because I'd like to hear it." Sherlock admitted, and Molly frowned, unsure of what to take from that.

There was a pregnant pause during which Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of Molly, and Molly tried very hard to look anywhere but at Sherlock.

"Okay, fine." She burst out at last. "Yes. I love you."

* * *

**I love you all very much! Thank you for all the interest in this writing! I shall update more as soon as my eyes go back to normal. xM**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Wow, okay. It's been a while. A few days. But yeah. Enjoy! As always, I do not own a thing.**

There was a moment where it seemed that both of them froze, and then Molly dashed out of the kitchen and locked herself in the bathroom.

After sitting there silently, trembling, for fifteen minutes, a quiet knock came on the door. Molly didn't move, as if by not responding she could make the last ten minutes go away.

"I shouldn't have asked you to say that." Sherlock's voice came through the door. Molly didn't move. "I did promise you that if you told me, I wouldn't be mad or hate you or anything like that."

Molly waited a moment and then sniffed. "I said love. I didn't mean to say love. I didn't, it just came out."

Sherlock laughed. "Oh, Molly Hooper. I thought you'd have understood already."

Molly frowned. "Well, I don't." She told him.

"Must I really spell it out? You know how I hate doing that." He leaned against the door frame, still speaking to the shut door. "Why do you think I wanted you to tell me how you really felt?"

"Because you're an arrogant prick who wants to make fun of me?" Molly asked, but there was humour in her voice.

"Perhaps, but even _I_ wouldn't do that." Sherlock said dismissively. Molly gave him a look, which he couldn't see, but her silence was understood. "I wouldn't!" He protested. After a few moments' pause, he spoke again. "You're going to have to come out of there eventually."

"No, I'm not." Molly said, but Sherlock heard a scuffling at the door and the pathologist appeared. "I could still lock myself in the loo if you're trying to pull one over on me." She reminded him, but it was with a smile.

Sherlock laughed. "I'm not, I promise."

"So, what do we do now?" Molly asked, walking into the living room and falling to the sofa.

"What do people usually do?"

"Well," Molly began hesitantly. "They, er, date, I suppose?" Her voice rose hopefully at the end of the sentence, which made her blush and curse her deceitful emotions.

Sherlock smiled a bit at her blush. "Well, I've never really dated before." He admitted. "We could... try it, I suppose."

"Oh, god, I mean, if you don't want to, then of course not." Molly stumbled over her words in her haste to get them out.

"No, no that's not what I meant. I'd really like to date, actually. But..." He sighed. "Well, you've met me. I'm not always the most pleasant person to be around." Molly chuckled at this, and Sherlock continued. "You said yourself that I can be an arrogant prick."

"While that may be true, I've been in love with you-" There was that word again. Love. Damn it. "For two years. If I've put up with you for that long, I think I can do it a bit longer." She smiled.

"Oh, Molly Hooper." Sherlock chuckled, and then fell silent. Without thinking, he leaned over and kissed her. Not the platonic peck on the cheek of Christmas, but tenderly on the lips.

**A/N: Okay! Well, that's it! I think. I mean, unless you'd like me to write more. In which case, let me know and I'll see what I can do. It's been a pleasure to write, and your enthusiasm and wonderful comments and follows and favorites brightened my day. Cheers! M**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: After all your lovely comments, I've decided to put up another chapter. Thank you so, so much you wonderful people. This chapter is oh god so fluffy, which pains me because FLUFF UGH. But I can't help it. It's also sort of badly written since I sort of wrote it all over the place. Thanks to Tom for the date idea!

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC, its writers, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

After what felt like hours, Molly broke apart from Sherlock, gasping.

"O-okay. That was- very nice." Molly touched her lips, not quite believing what had just happened.

Sherlock looked pleased. "Do you mind if I do it again?" He asked.

"Not at all." Molly said, and they leaned towards each other, her hands tangling in his curls, his resting at the small of her back, both pairs pressing each other closer, fitting them together like two pieces of a puzzle. They finally pulled away, and Molly stood up.

"I should go home and get dressed." She said, still sounding breathless.

"I suppose you should." Sherlock said, sounding regretful. "But would you..." He paused, trying to find the right words. "Go on a date with me? Tonight?"

Molly smiled. It was all vaguely surreal. "Of course." she agreed. "What do you want to do?"

Sherlock frowned. "What do people usually do on dates?" he asked her.

"We could see a movie and then get a bite to eat?" she suggested.

He nodded. "I'll come get you around seven."

Finding this acceptable, Molly donned her clothes from the evening before and tried to tame her hair into something slightly presentable.

"See you later."

"And you. Say hello to John for me, when he gets back."

"Of course."

With that, Sherlock put her in a cab and went back up to the flat.

Early that evening, Sherlock was standing outside of Molly's flat, his hair combed and wearing a clean shirt. Molly appeared moments later wearing a skirt and lipstick.

"Ready, then?" she asked Sherlock, who nodded and helped her into the waiting cab.

The cinema was crowded. They had picked a thriller, the only film that Sherlock hadn't made a sarcastic comment on, although it did earn an eye roll.

They sat down next to an old couple just as the lights began to dim.

"This is ridiculous." Sherlock muttered as eerie music floated through the darkened room. Molly rolled her eyes and shushed him, relaxing into her seat.

Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock was muttering in her ear, his hot breath tickling her neck.

"It was the butler. Judging by his shoe size, the shoes in the shed were his, and they were clearly the ones that left the prints."

Molly sighed softly. "Do you want to leave?" she murmured.

"God, yes."

The pair rose and shuffled past the other movie-goers and out into the cold night.

"That was inane." Sherlock said, buttoning his coat. Molly looked vaguely exasperated. "Sorry." She said, slipping her hand into Sherlock's. "So what do we do now?"

"I believe you mentioned dinner, earlier?"

"Only if you can behave yourself." She said with a laugh, and he smiled.

"I'll try my best." He promised.

They hailed a taxi and climbed in. Sherlock directed the driver to a small but fashionable restaurant tucked away in a narrow street.

"Oh, this is..." Molly looked over the glowing interior. "Wow."

"I helped the owner out of a tight spot once." Sherlock explained, privately pleased at her awe.

The waiter brought over a bottle of champagne and poured it. Sherlock watched as Molly sipped her own but drank none of his.

"If you'll recall, I don't drink." He said when she commented on this.

"Not even champagne?"

He shook his head, and Molly let it drop.

Bowls of light soup were brought, then pillowy gnocchi covered in truffle butter.

Molly asked about Sherlock's cases (dull), John (fine), Mycroft (Sherlock didn't dignify this last with a response.) In turn, Sherlock asked her about her cat (pretty good), her mother (all right), work (decent.) They let the conversation drop, eating quietly.

Dessert came, lavender-goat cheese ice cream. After a few moments, Molly reached for Sherlock's hand under the table, and he took it, tangling their fingers together.

Finally they got up and Sherlock helped Molly on with her coat.

Ten minutes later found them outside Molly's flat. Molly turned to face Sherlock, but stared at the pavement, suddenly shy.

"Thank you." She said quietly.

Sherlock frowned at the sudden change in mood. "Is everything all right? Have I done something?" he asked.

Her eyes widened. "No, oh god, no. It was wonderful. You're wonderful." She blushed. "Tonight was just so nice, I wish it didn't have to end."

He pressed his lips to her cheek and pulled her closer to him. "Don't think of it as an end," he murmured. "Really Molly Hooper, it's just the beginning."

A/N: Oh god okay the fluff oh my god. The last, I now realise, could be taken as an innuendo so I suppose you can make of that what you will. But all right, I think I'm done here. I miss it already. Hopefully I'll write more. I'd like to try my hand at Sherlock/Irene, but there would be so much sex and I don't know if I could do that. Hope you enjoyed reading! Love you all very much. xM


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